The Case Against Satan by Ray Russell Page B

Why?”
    â€œHer story. The man—died.”
    â€œThat’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Your Excellency—the danger—”
    â€œI know, I know.” The Bishop’s large white head nodded rhythmically. “But you were speaking of a thing that
might
be. She was speaking of a thing that
was
.”
    â€œAnd you want to quit?”
    â€œDon’t you?”
    â€œI’m not sure . . . But you—for
you
to doubt—”
    â€œIt is not doubt, not your kind of doubt. I
believe
. Oh yes, I believe all too well! But, Gregory . . .” The Bishop stood up and walked restively away. “To cause the death of a human being . . . I wonder if you know how terrible that is?”
    Quietly, Gregory said, “There are things worse than death, Your Excellency.”
    The Bishop sought out Gregory’s eyes and fixed them with his own. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, my boy. Are you prepared to make confession now?”
    â€œYes.”
    The Bishop produced a small leather case from an inner pocket, and from it took a little ribbon-like stole of deep plum color. He kissed the crucifix stitched at its top. As he put his head through the little loop of silk, he said, “Even as I put on this stole, may I put on God’s mercy and hear this confession as Our Lord would.”
    Gregory knelt beside the chair. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he said. “My last confession was three days ago. My sins are . . .”
    Some twenty minutes later, Gregory was saying, “I am sorry for and repent of my sins, all my sins, past and present.” Then, his hands folded, he softly murmured the Act of Contrition while the Bishop spoke the Absolution:
    â€œ. . . Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis,”
the Bishop concluded, slowly making the sign of the cross over the penitent,
“in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”
    â€œThank you, Father,” said Gregory, and rose.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    As Gregory lit the ceremonial candles, creating a joyless flicker that cast wavering hulks of shadows on the walls of the small, stripped bedroom, the Bishop turned the pages of the
Rituale Romanum
. Both men had changed into black cassocks—the Bishop’s embroidered in red—and both wore stoles. Gregory wore, in addition, a surplice.
    â€œRemember, Gregory,” the Bishop was saying, “we and Mrs. Farley are the only people who must know what we are about to attempt here. It is imperative that Susan, above all, have no idea. If she receives the slightest inkling, then no matter what we may accomplish, that doubt will keep nibbling at your mind. You will tell yourself it is all just another example of her hearing the clicking of the rosary beads and therefore acting in the way she knows we expect her to act. But if she knows nothing—”
    He broke off, for the door opened and Mrs. Farley led in Susan. The girl, calm now, was dressed as before, but Mrs. Farley had replaced her shoes and bobby sox with a pair of outsize carpet slippers.
    â€œNow then, Susan,” said the Bishop, “why don’t you come over here and just relax?” He waved toward the narrow bed.
    Susan looked at him, then at Gregory, then back at the Bishop again. Their ceremonial attire awed her. She said, “You both look so . . .”
    â€œFormal?” supplied the Bishop. “Well, everyone likes to dress up occasionally, and you must admit we have colorful costumes. Do sit down, my dear.” The girl sat uneasily on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you like to lie back and rest a little?” She swung her feet out of the slippers and lay down, staring at the ceiling.
    â€œThat’s it,” said the Bishop. He gestured Mrs. Farley out of the room. Gregory locked the door.
    â€œNow,” said Gregory to the girl, “I’m just